The Future Chosen

By Mina V. Esguerra

The nation of Isla has a law: No two politicians from the same family. Two elected officials who marry make their families one; only one can continue to serve.

In the future, Maria Lourdes and Andres Miguel could very well be their country's best and most influential leaders. She could be president one day, like her grandmother. He could be a senator one day, like his uncle. Marrying another politician is against the law, but why should it matter? Today they’re just young people who want to be together.

They’ll deal with the rest of it tomorrow.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Mina V. Esguerra
• Release date: Dec 24, 2016
• ISBN: 9781370095513

Mina V. Esguerra

Mina V. Esguerra writes and publishes romance novels. Her young adult/fantasy trilogy Interim Goddess of Love is a college love story featuring gods from Philippine mythology. Her contemporary romance novellas won the Filipino Readers’ Choice awards for Chick Lit in 2012 (Fairy Tale Fail) and 2013 (That Kind of Guy). In 2013, she founded #RomanceClass, a community of Filipino authors of romance in English, and it has since helped over 80 authors write and publish over 100 books. She is also a media adaptation agent, working with LA-based Bold MP to develop romance media by Filipino creatives for an international audience. Visit minavesguerra.com for more information about her books and projects.

Book preview

Prologue

Extraordinary

AMJ3 and MLR2

What she will miss most of all, she realizes, is this, the way their toes are touching now under the sheets. For as long as she can remember she has had her own bed, and has shared it with no one, and has defined personal space by the arm's length that it takes for a pillow to fall to the floor. He knows this, and when he told her he was going to try to nap, he inched back to give her room to breathe, but kept that point of contact. Because that's how he is; he will do as you ask, but in his own way.

She regrets not doing this sooner.

His skin is warm against hers, and he fidgets in his light sleep. He shifts and he's on his stomach, and she spends what seems like a zillion heartbeats watching where that strong shoulder curves into that strong back and drifts under the sheet into that strong leg.

No wait, this is what she'll miss the most. She has to stop thinking in superlatives.

It takes her that long to realize that they're no longer touching. She pushes her toe toward him. It wakes him up (he is easy to startle) and she is almost sorry she did it.

He sees her and smiles. And then, small panic. What time is it? he says.

Just after midnight.

Thank God.

He pushes himself onto his elbows and soon his lips are upon her, and she is overwhelmed by how soft and warm those lips are, how smooth he feels as he slides down her body.

How stupid is she. This is what she'll miss the most.

---

They belong to a generation of Emilios, Andreses, Marias. Names that evoke a memory, meant to label people as extraordinary, but overuse has reduced those names to nothing.

She met him, Andres Miguel, formally, only when she turned sixteen. But it was impossible not to know of him, not to know of anyone, over at 513. Everyone makes it their business to know everyone else at 513.

Now that she's thinking about it, it matters that she didn't really know him earlier. She hasn't seen any of his baby pictures, has no memory of him being a snot-nosed seven-year-old boy. He was what was considered attractive then, and became what was attractive the following year, and is what is attractive today.

On paper he is AMJ3, the third Andres Miguel in his family.

He says he loved her then, even though she was not happy to see him, especially because she was not happy to see him. She did not appreciate being put into a new Strat class, so late into the school year, when she had spent months establishing a rapport with a different set of people. When she found out the reason AMJ3 got there—kicked out of his regular class for social problems with classmates—she just wanted out.

On paper she is MLR2, her family's second Maria Lourdes.

Don't worry about it, Lucky, he said, creating a new name for her right then and there (because he does that and people love it).

What's your TLS?

94.

What's your PSO?

97. She was proud of that. It was the highest in their class.

The numbers gave him pause, and the cover of smug teenager dropped slightly.

Why what's yours? she said.

97 TLS, 94 PSO. What I was going to say was that we're not going to fail this, so you shouldn't worry.

I know I'm not going to fail this. I don't like that I probably won't be in the top three percent.

Oh. Well then. Glad we cleared that up, he said. I like having a goal.

---

Ten

Top three percent is difficult, but not impossible. But when she made the honors class in 513 for that first time, top three percent suddenly meant something. Top three percent anywhere.

The odds were against them in third year Strat. Huge project, actual community involvement, transferred into a new class, two people doing the work of four.

She came up with the mechanics for the early-education alternative agriculture program, and he pulled together the numbers that justified its benefits to the population in the long term. She was impressed, and totally convinced of the project after he practiced his presentation (and it was her idea).

It could have been that easy. If not for the seven or ten things that screwed up on the day of their final. Like the materials for the teacher panel getting lost. The child wandering into another room and was thankfully found half an hour later. Soggy seedlings, a late panelist, and everything else in between.

She burst into tears on the bus ride back to the city.

It's not as bad as you think, Lousy, he said, in a tone that almost passed for comforting. We pulled it together.

Just barely. Not enough.

To this day, it is the only class where she was merely above average. The post-semester evaluation blamed it on the circumstances beyond their control. The evaluation made note of their Traditional Learning Scores and Psychological/Social/Other metrics. First of all, very few even in the elite honors class at 513 received scores over 90 on either. High TLS indicated great potential in disciplined learning, respecting authority, and capacity to follow instruction. PSO tried to account for the other qualities that made people successful, recording items like change adaptability, charisma, persuasiveness. The exceptionally high and similar scores were red-flagged; there was a risk of being too volatile when together, and left little room for compromise. It was recommended that AMJ3 and MLR2 not be required to do schoolwork together again, or engage in social activity.

So they continued to see each other.

---

No such thing as a prom in 513. Because government budgets didn't have a budget item named prom. But private schools still had them. She never really wished she were studying somewhere else until she realized that there would be no chance to dress up and just hang out with him in the same room without having to be sneaky. With a combined average of 95.5 TLS/PSO, they were successfully sneaky.

No such thing as a high school graduation in 513 either. At the end of senior year, many simply moved on to their first year in their Public Administration degree. Recent performance dictated next semester's classes, and they were never assigned together again.

---

During one hectic semester, the only possible time they could have together was between ten p.m. and midnight, twice a week.

She needed to tell her older sister Mel about him. It was the only way she could sneak out and come back, those two nights a week, for a whole semester, without anyone noticing.

But first, she had to endure the expected: Him! You can't see him! Not AMJ3! Do you know what mom and dad will do to you? I can't be part of this! Not after everything they've sacrificed for us—for you!

But she was ready with: I know what I'm doing. My course work isn't affected. I will be all they need me to be. I know when to end it. Just trust me, and let this run its course. We're young.

We'll get over this, she told Mel.

At some point, Mel was turned over to her side. Lourdes was not, after all, a 97 PSO for nothing.

The accomplice became useful because the following semesters weren't any easier. Andres Miguel took internships uncredited, and worked twice the number of hours in civil service immersion than the curriculum required. Maria Lourdes signed up for additional advocacy classes, which made sneaking out difficult, but she pushed her luck. Whenever she had a free hour, she'd be in his room.

Studying. Reading laws.

But also kissing. It was almost unfair, how naturally good he was at it, on top of everything else. You'd think that they would have found a test to measure it, qualify it, and rank him alongside all the kissing performance of all public servants in training at 513, but he would have to have been near the top of the list, as he was with everything else.

When she joked about it one time, like whether he practiced on anyone else because why was he an expert, he rolled off her and pulled a notebook from what looked like a mess under his bed.

Finally she noticed, he said. Ten days later.

What?

He had a handwritten chart. Perceived Levels of L's Satisfaction. And then rows of fours and fives, a six, and then, more recently, a small spike to eights and nines.

Did you notice what I did differently? he asked, amused.

You let me lead, she said. Pacing. I controlled it. I just thought...

You like to be in control, Lusty. Definitely more satisfying for you when you are.

I don't...How do I contest these results? What are you basing your scale on? I would never have ranked us a four ever.

He smirked. I set perceived level of your satisfaction low because I wanted to challenge myself to take it higher.

This better not be for a final, she said, studying his chart some more. There's no ten.

There's no ten yet, he corrected.

---

Graduation

The Mayo-Matias Free and Just Elections Law is a thick book. And its own subject. Andres Miguel had it with him all the time; he read it, highlighted from it, wrote down notes about it, semesters after he had taken and aced that course. It was cute, but then when some people called him out on being an election law nut, he became more discreet about the hobby. Lourdes stopped reading the law with him after a year or so. It was boring at best, and also none of the words on the page seemed to change no matter how many times she wished they would.

She didn't want to, but she mentioned that thing they didn't want to talk about, finally.

You realize that you won't find a loophole, she said.

He was reading a provision about the educational attainment requirements of public servants at the time. His notebook had a diagram and question marks beneath some key words. Just question marks, no loopholes. We'll find something.

Whatever it is, if there is one, won't apply to us. We're exactly what the book is trying to prevent.

She took Election Law too. It was required not just in 513 but all schools, even private ones. It is the law credited with fixing things, ushering in a new era that now defined her life as MLR2 and his as AMJ3. In a nutshell: Only one politician per family. If your family already has one, the next eligible family member is the one born after the official's death. Not the end of their term, but the end of life. Prospective candidates must have gone to public school for primary and secondary education. They must have a degree in Public Administration. Must have TLS/PSO metrics of at least 75 on average. Must be at least twenty-one years old.

Which they would be, the following year.

His pen stopped in mid-air, and it felt to her like an accusing finger. I'm bothered that you've given up like this.

Smarter people than us wrote this, argued about it, and made it history and law.

Yes and you and I are the stellar examples of the system they made. We're everything they want us to be. They should be proud of us.

Oh they will be. Who are we going to freeze, my family or yours?

It was an argument that they never had, but might as well have. They both knew how it would go.

Andres Miguel's family will not agree to it, to be frozen out of public office due to marriage. Only one other sibling of his was eligible under the election law, but his TLS/PSO metrics were low. He would never make it past mayor. The family's only other chance, a cousin with metrics in the 80s, nixed her chances by choosing to go to a private school in the south.

And no, how dare they even think of freezing out Maria Lourdes' family. The legacy of the first Maria Lourdes, beloved former president of the Republic, rested squarely on her shoulders, and hers alone. There was no one else eligible on her side.

But they weren't the first to ever encounter this. People did as they pleased, affairs continued, families fell.

I'll find something, he said.

It was sweet. But graduation was coming, and like she told Mel, she knew it had to be over by then. She wasn't dumb. She wasn't a 94 TLS for nothing.

She can be wrong, apparently. She has no regrets.

So much to think about already, beyond today's ceremony. She has a schedule. Her family will be celebrating for weeks. She has speaking engagements lined up, and actual work waiting.

The next election is not for two years, but campaigning never ends.

She knows that he has a similar two years all plotted out for him. They stopped talking about it some weeks ago. She didn't want to emphasize the dread.

Her parents think she is rushing a philanthropy project, the night before graduation. It was laughable but she had to try it, one last big sneakout before she gives it up. It's worth it.

Ten, she tells him, as he takes his coffee.

Of course, he replies.

They haven't slept.

The ceremony is grand, but it is so because of donations of families counting on their 513 graduate. Future local government officials, future governors, senators, maybe a president.

If their metrics are high enough.

If they are fortunate enough to be chosen and loved by the people.

The sixteen students in the honors class are called first.